Sara Smile
by AdieBishop
Summary: Sequel to Equilibria.  Snickers, GSR, YoBling!
1. The Tin Man

_**A/N:** Here's the first chapter of the sequel to Equilibria (Apologies for length, but there's a method to the madness ;o). Thank you all for reading, and for your kind comments. As always, you can find updates, etc., regarding this and other works at my website and myspace page._

_Take care._

* * *

**1. The Tin Man**

He happened to be in the neighborhood. That's what he told them, anyway, and that was what he kept repeating to himself as he sat in a dark corner, watching them. The music was too loud, he thought, and not his taste; the air was too smoky and pungent, and they seemed none the wiser.

They had started out sitting together. As the table filled up with empty glasses, however, they had gravitated toward the bar, leaving him a quiet observer. Not that he minded much: he was their boss. Supervisor. Mentor. Father figure. He cared for them, but kept himself distant, more often than not. He had helped all of them with personal problems at one time or another, but they (aside from Catherine) knew very little about him. The only person to get relatively close to him personally the entire time his team had known him was a dominatrix he'd met while working a case. The relationship had gone sour due to his own inability to trust, and his doubt about the woman's involvement in the case.

He kept to himself while not on the clock, occupying his time by reading forensics magazines, working advanced crossword puzzles, and going on an occasional roller coaster ride. Despite twenty-two years of working gruesome cases, he remained seemingly unhindered by it all---at least to outsiders looking in, and he preferred it that way.

He watched them drinking and laughing, having a good time, and smiled to himself. It was nice to see them all together, enjoying life outside of the job, not having to deal with death for a few hours. He declined a waitress' offer to bring him a drink, and she looked at him, confusion apparent on her face, before walking away. He'd been sitting in the same spot for over an hour and had had only coffee to drink. Gil Grissom supposed that he was the last person anyone would expect to find sitting in a crowded night club, and at the moment, that suited him just fine.

He thought momentarily about each of them, and, as he was apt to do, thought of Sara the longest. Sara Sidle. She was the one thing he loved above all else. He loved his work, of course, loved different things, but they paled in comparison. After all these years, he was still unable to tell her how he felt, even after almost losing her forever. Then again, she was seeing Nick, and there was no way he could tell her, now. But God, how he wanted to. He saw her there again, laying in the rubble, bloodied and bruised, her body broken, and it took everything that was in him to keep from shoving Nick aside and taking her in his arms and holding her, comforting her, telling her. Loving her. He watched the two of them together, and his heart ached. Finding them holding one another in the interrogation room, seeing their stares, hearing their whispers…Nick kissing her mouth, touching her skin, tasting her, wanting her, having her…it was almost too much to bear.

He cleared his throat as if to interrupt his own thoughts and took another sip of coffee. When a roar of laughter erupted from the group, Grissom watched the scene unfold from afar.

As with most things, it began with a bet.


	2. The Bet

**2. The Bet**

Greg was slurring his speech, trying to stand in between Warrick and Catherine. They each had an arm around his waist to steady him, their fingers involuntarily entwined. Catherine had seen a lot more of Warrick the past few weeks. He and Tina had decided to file for divorce. Well, Tina had, but he had yet to admit it out loud. She couldn't handle his "not being available" for her; her time schedule was of the utmost importance, however, not up for debate, no room for compromise.

Warrick had spent time with Catherine off shift, helped Lindsay with homework a few times, slept on the couch a night or two when he was too drunk to get into his house, forgot his keys, he said. Truth was that Tina had taken his keys, still in his pants pocket, to the dry cleaners, despite him telling her to leave them put, that he would do it tomorrow, after he'd gotten some rest. That was one of their problems right from the start, he noticed: a major short in their lines of communication. He heard but forgot. She listened, but didn't hear. He was so pissed that he got drunk instead of driving to Tina's work to get her keys, wound up outside Catherine's door.

They fought about anything and everything. Warrick was tired a lot, rarely smiled. Had fun even less. Tonight was the first night in who knows how long that he actually laughed, enjoyed himself.

"C'mon, man, you can't be serious."

Greg staggered into him.

"I s-s-s-wear, it's true."

"Alright, Greg. Let's go, buddy," Nick said, wrapping Greg's arm around his shoulder and helping him outside.

He mumbled goodbyes and waved as Nick helped him into the taxi, gave the cabbie his address and cab fair, shut the door and went back inside.

Sara slid her arm around his waist when he got back to the bar. He kissed her on the top of her head and Warrick handed him another beer.

They were sitting, now, their knees touching. Catherine had another shot, Warrick another beer. The group stopped glancing toward the dark corner to where Grissom was; almost forgot he was there entirely.

"There is a man who cannot hold his alcohol," Warrick said, shaking his head as he took a drink of beer, and Sara laughed.

"He drinks too fast."

"Well who'd wanna drink slow?" Catherine said, walking away, headed for the jukebox, and Warrick glanced at her.

Nick took Sara's hand, pulled her off the bar stool and sat down, pulled her onto his lap, watched Warrick.

"When's your divorce hearing?"

Warrick sighed.

"I don't know. Next week, I think." He scoffed. "No love lost, not much gained, anyway," he said, his eyes reverting to Catherine, clad in tight jeans, black high heels, and a sparkly red halter top.

"Looks like maybe some love's been gained," Sara chimed, and Nick grinned, nodded his head in agreement.

"What? Me and Cath?" He rolled his eyes, feigning disinterest.

"Just friends."

"Friends don't look at each other the way you two do," Nick said.

Atlanta Rhythm Section's _I Am So Into You_, Catherine's choice, blared throughout the night club and Warrick used it as a means of avoiding the conversation.

He guzzled the last of his beer, clapped his hands and strutted towards Catherine. She cackled when he took her into his arms and they began dancing, and Nick shook his head.

"Just friends," Sara repeated. She and Nick watched Warrick and Catherine dance.

"Yep," Nick said finally, and Sara grinned.

"Oh yeah." She finished her beer and ordered another round for everyone.

A dance mix followed, and Warrick and Catherine grinded against one another on the dance floor, oblivious to anything and everyone.

"They're practically having sex," Sara said.

Nick chuckled.

"I bet you by the end of the night that those two will be in bed together."

"Or in an alleyway someplace," Nick added, and Sara laughed.

"I think I'll take you up on that bet," she said, and Nick raised an eyebrow.

"You serious?"

"Yep."

He took out his wallet.

"Okay, Sidle. How much?"

"Oh, I don't wanna play for money," she said, a seductive grin across her face. She slid her hand behind her and down Nick's stomach.

He cleared his throat.

"What are we playing for, exactly?"

Sara grinned.

Across the room, in a darkened corner, a shadowy figure stood and exited the night club unseen.


	3. Interrupted

**3. Interrupted**

Warrick and Catherine were making out against the jukebox when the bartender turned the house lights off and again informed them that the bar was closing.

Nick and Sara walked to them, hand in hand; Sara noticed silently that Grissom had gone. She said nothing, and neither did anyone else.

When they reached them, Nick raised an eyebrow, slapped Sara on the bottom, a promise of things to come. She grinned, cleared her throat to get Warrick and Catherine's attention.

"The bar is closing, you guys. We have to leave."

Warrick mumbled something to Catherine and she laughed, steadied him, tried to steady herself.

"C'mon, we'll drop you off," Nick said.

Warrick and Catherine staggered out of the bar behind Nick and Sara.

"Where we goin'?" Warrick asked, and Nick unlocked his truck and chuckled.

"Well I assume that you guys are goin' to Cath's?"

Catherine giggled as Warrick cupped her bottom, pushed her inside the vehicle.

"Yeah, yeah…" Warrick mumbled.

As much as the group had had to drink, the drive was quiet. The radio played softly, left on a local station from when Nick and Sara had arrived; Catherine and Warrick's makeout session could be heard, giggles and heavy breathing, which Sara and Nick tried to ignore.

They dropped the two off at Catherine's, talked briefly about their wager and Warrick and Catherine. They were quiet the rest of the way, and Sara silently wondered why Grissom had left the club without saying anything; moreover, why he'd showed up in the first place. Her thoughts trailed to lying in rubble, pain everywhere, Nick's arms around her, Grissom near her, and she frowned. Before she'd have wanted his arms around her, for him to be the one holding her, kissing her, telling her it would be alright. But now, she regarded Gil Grissom the man seemingly as nothing more than a distant memory. Gil Grissom the Supervisor, however, was alive and well. They worked together, said formalities to one another, passed one another in the hallway every now and again. Other than that, he didn't exist. Just as he hadn't existed there in the club; Sara decided to think of him now as nothing more than a shadowy figure in a crowded night club, sitting alone in a dark corner someplace, exiting unseen.

They arrived at Sara's, and Nick had to push her off of him more than once before they got inside.

"Let's get inside, first, Sar," he laughed, but she didn't seem to hear. Hands, fingers, mouth…everywhere. They were half undressed before they'd gotten inside, and no sooner than they were in the bedroom, someone knocked on the front door.

Nick pulled his jeans on, left them undone, his belt dangling in front. Sara tied her robe around her. Nick answered the door, Sara behind him, and, had they bet on who's facial expression would have won a most surprised contest, Gil Grissom the man would have won by a landslide.


	4. Grissom the Man

**4. Grissom the Man**

Nick stared at Grissom. Sara stood beside him, arms now crossed, her expression that of stone; Grissom looked at them, stood unmoving.

"Grissom? It's four in the morning, man."

Grissom cleared his throat, put his hands in his pockets. He couldn't lie and say his reason for stopping by was about work, this time.

"Well, I see now what's been going on," he said quietly, glancing to Nick's undone belt and jeans.

Nick fastened his pants, glanced back at Sara.

"Why are you here?" Sara asked, stepping forward to stand beside Nick in the doorway.

Grissom looked at her, his eyes expressing everything at once: fear, anger, hurt, love, disappointment. Love. Hurt.

"I wanted to talk to you."

Sara grimaced. "About what, exactly?"

Nick put his hands on his hips and he and Sara waited for an answer.

Grissom tried to give them one. Under the circumstances, however, he regretted that he'd come, and words failed to escape him. He regretted that he'd showed up like this, at four in the morning, sleep depraved, jealous, hurt, wearing and now hiding his heart on his sleeve; wanting, needing, unable to have her.

"It's a private matter," he said finally, glancing again to Nick, and Sara frowned when Nick walked away from the door, went into the bedroom and came back dressed, picked up his jacket and keys.

"Where are you going?"

Nick planted a quick kiss on Sara's forehead. "Call me later," he said, striding out the door, past Grissom and down the hall, and Sara pulled her robe tighter around her.

They stood there, speechless and still, one looking awkward and confused, one looking upset and confused; Sara sighed. She had dreamt of a moment like this, Gil Grissom at her door, off the clock, wanting to talk to her about 'private' things (and perhaps do 'private' things) so many times, and yet, now she had no interest in it at all. She was upset that he chose to pull a stunt like this now, after all these years. She was with Nick, had been for months. He knew about it but refused to accept it; what the hell was he thinking, showing up like this? And Nick had left on account of it. Grissom had left the club without saying a word to anyone, had said very little to anyone all night, and now here he was, standing confused and helpless in an empty hallway at four in the morning, staring at the woman he'd secretly loved for years. She was clad in nothing but a flimsy bathrobe, vulnerable and exposed, and he was unable to speak or move.

"What do you want, Grissom?" she asked again, tired, now.

He took his hands from his pockets.

"May I come in?"

Sara glanced behind her: clothes and undergarments strewn everywhere. She was in nothing more than a robe.

_What the hell_, she decided. _He deserves to see it_.

She stepped aside and he hesitated, then entered. She closed the door and turned around.

Grissom eyed the clothes strewn about and cleared his throat again.

"Have a seat," Sara offered, and Grissom did so, found the nearest chair without a bra or panties on it.

Sara sat down on the sofa across from him, picked up or moved nothing, and waited for him to speak.

He stared at her and then sighed, crossed his legs and then uncrossed them, leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, his fingers intertwined, and began.

"Sara, I wanted to talk to you about what's going on between you and Nick."

She looked at him, said nothing.

"I understand that working together, especially with the job that we do, that certain feelings can arise for a co-worker, and you may be conflicted about how to deal with them…" His brows furrowed and his voice trailed off, wasn't sure of what he was trying to say.

"Don't you think it's a little unprofessional?"

Sara laughed and he looked at her, hurt.

"Grissom, we don't have sex at work. We remain professional, and you should know that. Our relationship doesn't impair our abilities at criminalists."

Grissom frowned.

"You can't ask us to stop seeing one another just because we work together. Lots of people who work together date their co-workers. Some of them even marry their co-workers."

Grissom's eyes shot up. Marry. Marriage. Matrimony. Wedlock. Husband and wife. Sara and Nick. Sara and Nick, married, husband and wife. Was it possible? Had they discussed marriage so soon? It took him a minute to fully hear the words. The mental imagery made him feel queasy all of a sudden.

"What have we done, aside from a platonic hug in an interrogation room, when we were alone, I might add, that makes us seeing one another so wrong to you?"

"You shouldn't be hugging anyone at work in the first place."

"What, we're not allowed to touch people, now? We can touch cold, dead bodies and evidence while wearing latex gloves, and do paperwork all day long, but touching a warm, live human being is against the rules? Did I miss a memo?"

"It's not about the job," he blurted, and in an instant, Sara saw it.

He sat motionless, his head down, mentally kicked himself again. Her words stung, her attitude was cold and harsh. Maybe he was too late.

Sara looked at him.

"Grissom, why don't you stop being my boss, for just a second, and tell me why you're really here?"

He sighed, looked up at her. He felt emotionally drained. He was tired of hiding it, tired of lying to himself.

"Okay."


	5. Nick and the Volcano

**5. Nick and the Volcano**

Sara was late.

Nick stood by his locker door, opened it, closed it, opened it again, closed it, sat down, and waited. He checked his watch again, ignoring Greg's banter about some big case he had to get started on. "ASAP," he'd said.

Grissom was at work, had been for over an hour. He'd said nothing to anyone, and Nick wondered what had happened between him and Sara last night. He kicked himself for leaving them alone together, but was upset at the fact that Grissom had showed up so late; maybe he was more upset at the fact that Sara had done nothing to make him leave. There had been alcohol involved, and perhaps that had impaired her judgment, but they had been about to make love. Sara should have politely told him that it wasn't a good time and just closed the damn door. Locked it. Propped a chair in front of it. Came back to bed, back to his warm kisses.

He sighed again and crossed his arms, couldn't get the thoughts of them together out of his mind. It was common knowledge around the office that Sara had had a thing for Grissom since she'd showed up, eight years ago. Probably before then, truth be told. Sara had told him that she'd met Grissom during college, at a lecture he'd given. She'd been smitten ever since, and whenever she spoke about him in a matter not related to work, her tone was cold and crass, the tone of a scorned lover. Grissom had denied her advances for years, so why did he choose now to unload the burden of his heavy heart, after he'd known full and well that Sara wasn't available? Shouldn't be available, he told himself, trying his best not to doubt it.

He stood up and began walking out of the locker room, tired and angry, and Sara turned the corner. They bumped into one another, and instead of arms coming out to catch, in a loving reflex, Nick's arms crossed, settled against his chest.

Sara went to her locker and opened it, Nick turned to face her and waited for her to speak.

"What?" she asked finally, and Nick grimaced.

"What happened last night after I left?"

Sara checked her gun, put it in its holster and closed the door. She faced him, looking tired, and he could tell that she'd overslept, was more than likely hung over.

"We talked."

"Talked about what?"

Sara's brows furrowed, her fingers massaging there. "Nick, can we talk about this later? I'm late."

"I know you're late, that's why I've been here waiting for over twenty minutes."

"I slept late, okay? Can we go now?"

"Sara, I want to talk about this."

"I know you do. But can we please talk about it later?" She took a step forward but Nick stopped her.

"No. Now."

Sara sighed.

"What did you talk about?"

"He told me that he thought our relationship was unprofessional, and that he didn't agree with it."

"And you said?"

"I told him the truth, that we don't do anything at work."

"What'd he say?"

"He said that it wasn't about the job," Sara said with a sigh, and Nick looked at her, feared the worst.

"So what's it about?" he asked, as if he didn't already know. His hands curled into balls, his arms still crossed, knuckles white at the bone.

"Nick," Sara said, her tone pleading to not ask again, but he did anyway.

"If it's not about work, then what is it about? Why does he have such a problem with us being together?"

"Because he's in love with me," Sara said finally, and Nick stood frozen, his head shaking up and down, his ears soaking in the words.

"He loves you?"

Nick thought a moment, swallowed the knot in his throat. He'd wanted to hear her say it, needed an excuse to justify the blood rushing to his head, the air filling his lungs, the pounding in his chest. The anger. He wanted to hear the words, wanted to storm into Grissom's office in a fit of rage, hurt him for hurting her, for making her doubt their relationship, for making her doubt him. But he couldn't. He couldn't move from where he stood, and once she'd said it the anger flushed out of him and turned cold, fell into the pit of his stomach and made it toss and turn, made him dizzy and hurt.

Sara stared at him, and he blinked ferociously to hide the tears. He took a deep breath and looked at her, whispered the words through quivering lips, "_He_ loves you? Sara, _I_ love you."

Nick turned and left the locker room, and the building. Sara stepped out into the hallway, the receptionist looking toward the door, then to her.

"Is he coming back?" She paused. "Grissom just called and said that you guys need to get your butts in there, like five minutes ago."

Sara looked at the woman and put her head down, turned and walked the other direction, toward the break room.


	6. Grissom the Supervisor

**6. Grissom the Supervisor**

Nick hadn't been this drunk since his frat days. He tripped over the coffee table, landed on the sofa, laughing.

He'd turned his cell phone off after he'd pulled out of the parking lot, Grissom had called him twice before he'd started the engine.

Gil Grissom. His boss, his supervisor…co-worker, and at one time, not long ago, his friend and father figure, mentor, the person he most admired and respected. Until last night. He supposed his anger was misdirected, in a way. It should have been directed at Walter Gordon, at the idea of Walter Gordon, or perspex boxes dug into the ground, or the bad guys, perps in general. He hated bugs; the thought of anything crawling on his skin made him nauseous. He hated small spaces (no one noticed him sweating in the elevator at work; he took the stairs whenever he could get by with it). He had a hard time sleeping if he was alone. Being with Sara had calmed his nerves, made him feel normal again, made him feel like things were okay, like he could get through it okay. Like someone actually understood, actually gave a damn.

Nick guzzled the last of his beer, almost stood up to get another, instead fell back down again. He tried a second time, fell again and missed the sofa, sat on the floor and decided to stay put for a few minutes.

He glanced around his apartment, lay his head on the coffee table, relished its coolness, and closed his eyes. Everywhere he looked he was reminded of a bad memory. Even his own apartment was tainted with the prospect of death, empty and cold and forgotten.

The phone rang again and Nick tossed an arm up, letting the empty bottle fly across the room. It hit its mark, the receiver knocked out of its cradle, landing to the floor with a thud. The voice was faint on the other end of the line, but Nick knew whose it was, held his breath a moment until the line clicked off.

Gil Grissom, his boss, his supervisor. His supervisor, who'd just so happened to profess his love for his girlfriend. His head swam, thoughts floating in his mind during his drunken stupor, and he laughed. He laughed until he could barely breathe, and then raised his head up and began crying, like he'd never cried before. The rage that he'd felt earlier in the day, the rage he'd felt when he realized he was in that Godforsaken hole in the ground, trapped, helpless, afraid and alone, all came to him at once, dissipating, turning into hurt and pain, burning a hole in his gut, pounding a fist in his head, and he let it all out right then and there, in the emptiness of an apartment that he rarely called home. There in the forgotten, with the memory of a gun pointed at his head, seeing his life flash before him, sure he was taking his last breaths at that very moment; the first dinner with Sara, the first kiss, the first touch, her eyes, comforting, calming, searching; her lips, soft and wet, warm against his; his tears, alone.

And now, his tears, alone.

When Nick finally stumbled to the door, his head pounding, the sound of it mimicking the pounds of the door, wanting to stop the incessant noise, he hadn't yet realized that he'd passed out, slept through the rest of shift.

He opened the door with brows furrowed, his eyes squinting from the too soon light, the pounding in his head still pounding. Sara said nothing, stood there motionless, and it took Nick a moment to register who it was.

Her eyes were red and puffy, fresh tears threatened to spill over at any second, and when Nick asked her what was wrong, they did.

She said the words while her body moved into his, arms wrapped around him tight, tears wetting his shirt. He held her, tried to piece together what she'd said, tried to stop the pounding.

_Grissom's been shot._

Nick held her, whispered, "_Ssshhh_" to no one in particular.

The pounding stopped.


	7. Unbound

**7. Unbound**

Sara sat on the sofa, a fresh tissue in one hand, a dirty one in the other, breathed in the scent of stale beer and sweat and tears while Nick showered. Her throat burned and her head ached, the pressure behind her eyes almost too much; if she were to go through another bout of tears, she imagined that her eyeballs pushing out of their sockets from it would be perfectly plausible.

It had been a night like any other, solve a murder and then go home. Well, aside from the go home part. Normally Sara would have driven herself but when Grissom offered her a ride she took it, still not precisely certain as to why she had. She supposed pity was a part of it, curiosity a part, anger at Nick another…there were lots of pieces in the eight year puzzle of her life in Vegas; she still found a piece in some hidden place beneath her heart from time to time. One here, one there, one over there next to her boss, one behind that beer bottle…the pieces were strewn everywhere, far and wide, near and close. Sometimes she told herself that she didn't want to find them all, didn't want to finish the puzzle, and laughed at the idea of her life at its end, her face smiling down, a picturesque Picasso. But it was a lie. She'd searched her entire life for meaning, for a reason, for answers. For hope. And the one man she was sure of having all of those things, after so very long and having just come around to the acceptance of his own feelings, was fighting for each breath in a cold, sanitary room on the top floor of a hospital that seemed, at the moment, a million miles away.

_You could lose him. And you never really even had him, Sidle._

_Wouldn't that be something?_

That little voice, the one who doubted her every thought, every move, the one who stopped her from saying or doing what she thought or felt; more often than not, that little voice had been right, she reckoned, but just once, she thought, it'd sure be nice to make it shut the hell up for a change.

Nick turned the water off, dried and dressed quickly. He left the door ajar, the steam escaping into the rest of the apartment, the fresh, warm scent fighting with the acrid, cold ones. He brushed his teeth (tried not to notice his reflection), hesitated before opening the door. His mind had raced all morning: _Why are you wasting time when you could be there? What difference would it make anyway? Stop wasting time and get there! Does it matter? I'm sorry. Shut up and go, Nicky! God, I'm sorry..._

He swallowed hard and opened the door, glanced toward Sara. He grabbed his jacket and keys, pulled on his shoes, headed for the door. He said her name, brought her from her daze and she followed, out of the cold apartment into the warm sunshine.

The blue sky, the white clouds, a soft breeze; a brand new day.

Nick started the engine and clicked on his seatbelt. Once Sara had shut the door he sped off. Sara fastened her own seatbelt, as if her safety mattered much, anymore, and they headed toward the hospital a million miles away, to a cold, sanitary room on the top floor, now housing their boss, their supervisor, their co-worker, and friend; Nick's father figure, mentor, the person he most admired and respected; Sara's meaning and reason, her answers…her hope.

They had stopped to get gas. Grissom got out and she sat in the passenger seat, waited with a smile, curious, nervous, not sure of what would happen next if they were to end the night together. She thought of Nick and felt a kick in her gut, slow at first and then more forceful, that little voice echoing hatefulness, and then pity and shame, and the realization that once he was back in the car, and if the moment came to it, that she'd politely decline and go home. If, of course.

And then she heard the shots, and then he didn't come back.

Gil Grissom, a brilliant scientist who'd made a career of following evidence and chasing bad guys and solving crimes and dealing with death on a day to day and night to night basis, had been shot in an armed robbery attempt.

Neither of them had carried their weapons. By the time she'd gotten inside, past the screaming people, the robber had gone, leaving a young store clerk dead, and Grissom down.

_Grissom down. Down for the count. Tick, tock, Sidle. Tick, tock, tick. Down._

There was blood everywhere. Someone on a cell phone, then sirens and police tape and questions. Ambulance, gurney, coroner, glass, shell casings, blood. Everywhere. And no one could tell her anything, it seemed.

She managed to grab his hand, cold and limp, before they shoved him in the back of the ambulance. He smiled an odd smile, and right before they closed the doors and drove off, she heard him say, "Such is life."

Nick pulled into the hospital parking lot and she followed him inside, past the receptionist's desk, down the hall, around the corner, and into the elevator. Up, up, forever up, and then down the hall, around the corner.

Warrick and Catherine were there, talking to Brass. Warrick had his arm around Catherine, no wedding band on his finger; she leaned on him, teary eyed, red nosed, sniffling, nodding, answering the best she could.

Brass stepped back when he saw them coming, Warrick and Catherine turned around. Warrick nodded to Nick and Sara, then walked away with Catherine, probably taking her to a waiting room, or to get some fresh air. Nick stormed up to the room, looked through the glass, and froze when he saw him. Sara followed slowly behind, and Brass patted Nick on the shoulder, bypassed him to talk to Sara again. She'd told him everything, already. God help her, she had. Everyone together, Warrick and Catherine, Brass investigating, Greg on his way, Doc by the phone, lab techs already ordering flowers and balloons, and as of yet, no status report. Live or die? Would he be okay? Would he make it? Was he awake? Could they see him? Did he talk to Brass? Did he see the robber (as if it mattered, now)? Live or die? Life or death? Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick…

Live or die, such was life.


	8. The Smile

**8. The Smile**

The siren blared past them. They sat, the four of them, in the gazebo outside, waited for any word on Grissom, waited for a call, a yell, a nurse, for dark. For something, anything.

Warrick and Catherine went back inside, leaving Nick and Sara alone. A nurse stubbed out a cigarette and walked back into the ER; Sara wished that she still smoked. Nick took her hand clumsily, didn't know if it was welcomed, allowed, or not. She didn't pull away, so he put an arm around her, kissed her on the top of her forehead, mumbled a heartfelt apology, but Sara didn't hear it, she was numb. Her eyes were red and swollen, her nose red and raw, and she sniffled, leaned into him, felt guilty.

What she'd failed to mention to Nick, or to anyone, even herself, until that moment, was the conversation between she and Grissom right before he'd gone into the store.

"Maybe we should get married?" he'd said out of the blue, his tone making it sound more of a question than a thought, and Sara stared at him, speechless. A second later the smile had crossed her lips, and she tried to remember what she'd said. She thought it sounded like, "Okay," but couldn't remember. She wanted to think she'd said no, hence her deciding to have him take her home once he came back, but she couldn't be certain now. God, what had she said? Even if she had said no, the smile was the initial response, and it said everything. In an instant, it said, _Thank God, finally! After all these years, yes, I will! Yes! I love you! Let's do it!_ With that smile, her heart did its own talking, leaving Sara silent, without words (which was fine, since none were really needed just then, anyway).

She pulled away from Nick when her cell phone rang, and then made her way back inside, leaving Nick to trail after her.

She hurried down the hall to see Warrick and Catherine sitting in chairs across from his room, a doctor waiting for her. Nick stopped beside her, swallowed hard when he heard.

Sara glanced at him, then to Warrick and Catherine, and then stepped inside Grissom's room.

He smiled and winced at the same time, lifted his hand, motioning her to take it, fumbling with the IV cords.

She stepped forward and sat beside him, took his hand, and he sighed.

"Thought that was it," he said, and Sara laughed, sniffled.

"I guess it takes more than a bullet to stop the tin man, huh?" he joked, and Sara started crying again, her tears flowing almost on their own. Grissom frowned and raised up, took her in his arms. He smoothed her hair back and kissed her face, brushed her tears away, and Sara shook her head. She wondered if Nick was watching through the window, and then realized that it didn't matter much right now.

"Grissom, I love you," she whispered. "And I've always loved you. I probably always will," she added, and Grissom smiled.

"Then why are you crying, Honey?" he whispered, caressing her cheek, and Sara put her head down. When she looked back up a moment later, her tears had stopped. Her lips quivered as she said the words, "Because I can't do this anymore."

Grissom stared at her and after a moment, he leaned back, staring at her.

"I don't understand. I'm okay…" He thought a moment. "Is this about Nick?"

Sara shook her head again, tried to find words.

"It's about me," she said finally, standing up. She knelt down and cupped Grissom's face, and kissed him, her lips brushing softly against his. When he felt a draft and opened his eyes, Sara was gone. He wiped a traitor tear away and closed his eyes, said a silent prayer to whoever might hear it.

Nick knelt down, his back against the wall, his head down, heard Warrick ask if he was alright. He felt a draft go by, heard Catherine sniffle again, and when he looked up he saw, through teary eyes, Sara turn the corner down the hall.

He stood up and took a deep breath and swallowed hard. He patted Warrick on the back and hugged Catherine, told them he was alright but needed to get some air.

He walked down the hall and around the corner, got into the elevator. By the time he exited the double doors of the ER he saw her across the street, walking toward the cab she'd hailed. Before getting inside she saw him, her eyes dark and vibrant as ever, and Nick put his head down. He looked up and nodded, managed a weak smile, and Sara climbed inside.

Nick watched the taxi drive away, out of sight, out of reach. Out of his life, out of all of their lives; he let her go.


End file.
